


G is for Game

by Janieshi



Series: Alphabet [7]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Drinking Games, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Implied Relationships, Never Have I Ever, Past Relationship(s), Post-Mission, Secrets, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieshi/pseuds/Janieshi
Summary: In which Team Mustang plays a drinking game, and everyone learns a little something new about their teammates - especially Fuery, who regrets agreeing to play with these jerks.





	G is for Game

_Game /_ _ˈgām / noun - a competitive activity involving skill, chance, or endurance on the part of two or more persons who play according to a set of rules, usually for their own amusement or for that of spectators._

* * *

 

Technically, their mission in the dreary little mountain village had ended three hours ago, with the arrest of the gunrunner they’d been tracking. But the weather hadn’t gotten the memo, and the relentless rain hadn’t let up since they’d returned to the cabin to pack up their things.

Hawkeye, Havoc and Breda huddled around the ancient wood-burning stove in the cabin’s tiny kitchen, each wishing that someone had thought to pack a deck of cards. Fuery was outside fiddling with the phone lines, to ensure Mustang wouldn’t lose their tenuous connection while reporting back to Grumman on their predicament. Falman, the lucky bastard, had caught a stomach bug before they’d left on this mission, so he was safely back home, where there were decent restaurants and houses with central heating and hot water. Mustang, of course, was on the phone.

“Yes, sir. If the water level rises another foot, they’ll probably lose the bridge altogether, but as it stands no trains are running so long as the rain keeps up,” Mustang was explaining, scowling out the window at the unrelenting storm. “That’s right, sir. But there’s a long way around though another mountain pass, and they said we’ll be able to catch a ride down that route sometime tomorrow morning. Yes, sir...a delivery truck of some kind, the station master said. Yes. Yes, sir. Understood. Thank you, sir, we will.”

Sighing heavily, Mustang replaced the phone in its cradle. Havoc leaned over to rap his knuckles loudly on the window, signaling Fuery to come back inside. Breda added more wood to the fire, knowing that Fuery would appreciate the additional warmth. Once Fuery had shuffled into the kitchen, trying to shuck a dripping oilskin and wipe off his rain-streaked glasses at the same time, Mustang turned away from the window and faced his team.

“Since we’re stuck here for the time being, I suggest we try to make the best of it,” he announced.

Rummaging through his heavy overcoat for a moment, Mustang withdrew a bottle of rather pricey whiskey and thumped it down on the table. Four pairs of eyes stared blankly at it in the silence that followed.

Hawkeye, unsurprisingly, caught on first.

“A drinking game, sir?” she asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows. Mustang just shrugged.

“I picked it up on my way back from the station,” he said, answering the unspoken question of what he was doing with a bottle of booze tucked into a pocket. “Thought it might be of use to us. Does anyone else have a better idea for passing the time?”

His male companions glanced around at each other with resigned shrugs. Hawkeye frowned.

“Come on, Lieutenant,” he cajoled. “Think of it as a team-bonding exercise!”

Hawkeye sighed heavily. But she didn’t raise any actual objections, which Mustang accepted as tacit agreement.

“Right, so here’s how this works,” he said cheerily. “We’ll go around the circle, and each person will make a statement of something they’ve never done before. You must be _honest_ ,” he emphasized. “Anyone who _has_ done whatever it is has to take a drink. And if no one has done it, then the person who made the statement is the one who drinks, so don’t pick anything too far-fetched. The winner is the person who’s done the fewest number of shots by the end. Everyone clear?”

“Should there be any ground rules?” Fuery asked timidly as he drew up a chair. “Like, no questions intended to embarrass a specific person?” Havoc punched his arm lightly.

“Embarrassing questions are kinda the point of the game,” he laughed. Fuery flushed scarlet.

“Keep in mind that you can make your own questions as general or specific as you want, should the need for retaliation arise,” Breda interjected, grinning over at them. Fuery brightened at that idea.

“May I make just one request?” Hawkeye spoke up. “No questions pertaining to our experiences during the war?”

_As in: never have I ever shot and killed unarmed civilians because I was ordered to, or never have I ever watched the life drain out of a comrade’s eyes as I tried in vain to keep the blood from spilling out of his body,_ the others thought uneasily.

“Agreed,” Havoc and Mustang said at once, in unison. Breda and Fuery nodded their agreement as well, and Hawkeye relaxed slightly even as she exchanged significant glances with her teammates.

She hadn’t meant to imply any of them were the sort of vicious people who’d throw a friend’s past in his or her face to intentionally cause pain, and they all knew that. But they also knew that sometimes even the kindest people said things without thinking, and that not all minefields had physical locations.

“Breda, would you keep the tally?” Mustang asked, changing the subject tactfully.

“You got it, boss.”

“All right, everyone ready? Ladies first,” Mustang said, with a mock-bow in Hawkeye’s direction.

 She frowned faintly, thinking.

“Never have I ever...lobbied to have the uniform regulations amended,” she finally said.

Fuery sighed in relief. At least not _all_ of the questions would be embarrassing ones, he thought.

“Ah, the miniskirt referendum,” Mustang sighed, sadly. “I still can’t believe we couldn’t gather the required number of signatures to even have it considered.” He took a drink and passed the bottle to Havoc, who accepted it with a helpless little shrug.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Havoc maintained. “Man, I couldn’t walk down the hall without being called a pervert or a chauvinist pig for _months_ after that one.”

“You’re lucky the lieutenant didn’t black your eye,” chuckled Breda, who sat to Hawkeye’s left. “All right, my turn…Never have I ever sung a karaoke duet with a male coworker.”

Hawkeye and Mustang, wearing matching scowls, each took a swig.

“Damn Hughes,” Mustang muttered. “He’s a nightmare when he drinks; you have no _idea_.” Hawkeye nodded grimly.

“One night, that drunken idiot wouldn’t get off stage unless I joined him,” she explained as the others snickered. “Absolutely refused. Held on to that mic like it was a picture of his kid.”

“The manager was terrified he’d start throwing knives or something if he didn’t get his way. In the end the poor bastard got down on his hands and knees and begged Hawkeye to just humor Hughes so he’d leave his establishment without resorting to violence,” Mustang chimed in.

“So, what song did you—?” Fuery wondered aloud.

“ _Jackson_ ,” Mustang supplied, with a smirk. “And she did it in the cute little southern accent and everything.”

The stifled snickers turned into ill-concealed chortles. Hawkeye shot her colonel a look that promised a slow, painful death if he didn’t shut his trap. He cleared his throat loudly.

“Ah, so I’m next, right? Haha, let’s see...um...”

“Don’t strain yourself, boss,” Havoc sniggered. Mustang’s smile turned wicked.

“All right, then. Never have I ever been set up on a blind date with a friend’s little sister,” he said smugly. Havoc groaned and reached for the bottle.

“Just my luck that the kid had a freaking brother complex,” he muttered. To everyone’s surprise, Fuery reached for the bottle as soon as Havoc had taken his drink.

“W-what?” he stammered, noticing their stares. “My bunk mate at the academy set me up with his sister once, cuz she didn’t have a date to a wedding,” he explained, adjusting his glasses as his ears reddened. “We ended up dating off and on until I graduated.”

“Way to go, kid,” Havoc said, slapping his back. “Guess I’m next, then. Uh...okay, I’ve got one. Never have I ever used my sex appeal to flirt information out of an unsuspecting civilian,” he said triumphantly.

Mustang and Hawkeye exchanged amused smiles, thinking back to some of their earliest missions. Once they’d both taken a drink, Hawkeye passed the bottle to Fuery.

“Huh? I’ve never –” he protested. Hawkeye raised a brow.

“Oh? What about that time in Ferriston, with the foundry workers you questioned?” she asked calmly. Havoc and Breda perked up. Mustang just grinned.

“Foundry workers?” Havoc choked. “Seriously?”

“ _Female_ foundry workers,” Mustang clarified, as a red-faced Fuery sputtered protests. “Face it, sergeant, those ladies wanted to eat you alive.” Hawkeye gave the bottle an enticing little shake, and Fuery finally reached for it.

“I didn’t _flirt_ ,” he mumbled, but he took a drink anyway.

“You did so!” Mustang insisted, laughing. “You dialed up the cute and innocent bit to an eleven, puppy dog eyes and all. Those women were practically eating out of your hand!”

“They were cooing,” Hawkeye added solemnly. “I distinctly remember cooing. And eyelash-batting.”

Breda and Havoc were practically rolling on the floor with laughter. Fuery pouted.

“Wait! Is that the face you mean, Colonel? I can totally see it, now!” Breda chortled, prompting Fuery to glare darkly at him.

“I notice _you_ haven’t had to drink yet,” he mused. Breda grinned.

“There’s some measure of strategy to every game, even games of chance,” he confided. “Plus, I’ve always been lucky.”

Fuery glared at him for another minute.

“My turn, right?” he asked. “Fine, then. Never have I ever blown up an oven in the Central Military Academy kitchen.” Breda’s smug grin melted into an expression of shock.

“Who told you about that!?” he cried.

“What, really?” Mustang asked. “You blew up an _oven_?”

“It was an accident!” Breda growled, grabbing the bottle out of Fuery’s hand and taking a furious swig. “And it wasn’t even a real explosion!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna need to explain this one, pal,” Havoc said, grinning.

“It’s not actually that exciting,” Breda sighed. “You all went to the Academy; you know how old those damn gas ovens were.” Shrugs and nods all around. “Well, I was on KP, right? I guess someone must have left the gas on in one of ‘em, or else there was a leak in the line, or something. Anyway, when I turned it on, there was this loud popping noise that sorta sounded like a gun shot. Next thing I know, flames are shooting up the wall. But it only lasted a few seconds! I don’t know why everyone thinks I did it on purpose,” he grumbled.

“Were you punished?” Hawkeye wanted to know.

“Nah. Well, they took me off the KP roster for the rest of the quarter, but I’d rather mop floors than chop vegetables and shit anyway,” he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as his comrades laughed.

“Your turn again, Lieutenant,” Mustang prompted.

“Hm...Never have I ever...gone skinny dipping,” she said. Breda, Mustang, and Havoc each drank.

“Really, never?” Havoc asked, faintly surprised. “What kind of country girl _were_ you?”

“The kind who wasn’t eager to leap into a muddy pond full of fish and slimy waterweeds fully _clothed_ , much less in the nude,” Hawkeye retorted, tossing the cap of Breda’s pen at Havoc’s head. As expected, it hit him right between the eyes. “Have you ever had to pick a leech off of yourself?” she demanded.  “It’s not a pleasant experience.”

Mustang just smiled. In all honesty, she’d probably never done it because the idea had never occurred to her. The girl he’d known back then had been a remarkable mixture of innocent vulnerability and world-weary cynicism, burdened with a household to run and a half-mad reclusive genius to look after. Something as frivolous as swimming naked for the sheer thrill of the thing would never have even crossed her mind. She hadn’t even known _how_ to swim until he’d taught her, in fact.

Before Mustang could get lost in _that_ cherished memory, he noticed Fuery adjusting his glasses self-consciously.

“The municipal swimming pool back home was too well-lit at night for us to even try it. And I didn’t know anybody with a private pool,” he volunteered, seeming a little embarrassed.

“You needn’t explain yourself to these exhibitionists, Sergeant,” Hawkeye said warmly. Fuery ducked his head and shot her a small grateful smile, which she returned. “Go ahead, Breda,” she prompted.

“Uh...let’s see...never have I ever dressed in women’s clothes,” he said.

“Well, _that_ hardly seems fair,” Hawkeye said, but she reached for the bottle anyway.

“Heh, sorry Lieutenant,” Breda said apologetically. “I was actually aiming for the colonel with that one.” Mustang snorted and took a drink as well.

“I think I’m losing,” he noted.

“You-you’ve dressed in women’s clothes, sir?” Fuery squeaked.

“Ha! That’s right, you weren’t with us on that mission,” Havoc said. “Remember when we went out to Triumph to help them rout out that little band of highwaymen?”

“Er...oh, yeah, that little logging town down south. Some guys were extorting money from the villagers, right?” Fuery asked.

“That’s the one,” Breda grinned. “Jean and the colonel posed as the married couple who made the supply runs between the train station and the village,” he explained.

“But...didn’t Lieutenant Hawkeye go out there with you?” Fuery asked, glancing from Hawkeye to Mustang and back to Breda.

“I don’t like my movements hindered by long skirts while I’m on duty,” Hawkeye said serenely. “Besides, that flowered bonnet looked far better on the Colonel, in my opinion.”

“I’ve got a good face for hats,” Mustang agreed amiably as the others guffawed. “All right, now. My turn!” Though he’d already had five shots by this point, Mustang’s wits weren’t dulled in the slightest, and he smiled beatifically as he spoke his next words. “Never have I ever been propositioned by an Armstrong.”

Everyone was shocked when Hawkeye snatched the bottle from him.

“Holy shit, Major Armstrong made a pass at our Lieutenant?” Havoc asked, vaguely impressed. “I...I didn’t think he had the _balls_.”

“That’s _not_ the Armstrong I meant,” Mustang clarified with a smirk. Havoc’s jaw dropped.

“Wait. You mean...fuck, no _way_ ,” Breda gasped. “The _General_? General Olivier Mira fucking Armstrong?”

“The very same,” Mustang nodded.

“Huh. Well, you certainly couldn’t say that _she_ hasn’t got the balls to hit on the Lieutenant,” Breda mused, picturing the formidable blonde. “But I had no idea she...ya know... _played for the other team_.”

“Switch hitter,” Mustang replied. “Though my source tells me that men are her primary preference, there have been rare cases where an extraordinary woman has caught her fancy. Such as our own dear Lieutenant.”

“Damn,” Havoc whispered reverentially.

“When _was_ this?” Fuery asked, his eyes round as saucers behind his glasses.

“ **Shut it**. All of you. Not. Another. _Word_ ,” Hawkeye snapped, scowling. “And how in the hell did you even find out about that?” she demanded, turning the full force of her glare on Mustang. His grin only widened.

“The Major gets chatty when he’s had a few,” he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You’ll be glad to know he doesn’t hold you responsible for breaking his sister’s heart, although he does wish you’d given her a chance. Evidently the art of wooing a lady has been passed down the Armstrong family for generations. From what he told me, you missed out on such extraordinary experiences as—”

“Stop!” Hawkeye cried, holding up both hands. “Just...shut up. Please.”

Mustang mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. He’d always thought that flushed cheeks were rather becoming on Hawkeye, all the more so because she blushed so rarely. She had consumed almost as much alcohol as he had, by this point, and he found he rather liked the way she loosened up when she was slightly buzzed, letting her usual mask slip just a bit. Even now, though she was embarrassed and more than a little irritated, there was laughter in her eyes and a small smile playing on her lips.

The other three men at the table were still agape, too stunned to even chuckle at their mental images of General Armstrong turning the full force of the Armstrong family sparkle on their lieutenant. Fuery was picturing roses and chocolates, while Breda wondered whether the General would tear off her shirt and flex the way her little brother always seemed to do. Havoc’s mind, however, had taken a turn for the X-rated.

“I just...I can’t...the art of… _wow_ ,” Havoc finally managed, his eyes glazed over.

Hawkeye twitched in annoyance, and Havoc quickly snapped back to attention and cleared his throat.

“Ahem! So that’s me again, yeah? Right, uh...Never have I ever…uh,” he stalled, trying to think of a good one. “Oh! Never have I ever gotten so wasted that I woke up in someone else’s bed with no recollection of how I’d gotten there,” he said triumphantly.

Hawkeye and Mustang looked at each other in alarm. But before either could panic, Fuery sighed and reached for the bottle.

“Dude,” Havoc said, awed. Breda let out a low whistle.

While they were distracted, Mustang chanced another look at Hawkeye. She widened her eyes a little, and in response he gave a minuscule shake of his head. She then raised a brow. He wrinkled his nose slightly, and she ended the silent conversation with a twitch of her lips, all without anyone else even noticing.

“It was my eighteenth birthday!” Fuery was saying, flustered. “Everyone kept buying me shots! I woke up in a stranger’s apartment with two other people in the bed with me. And I’d never even seen them before!” Havoc and Breda were staring at Fuery like they’d never seen _him_ before.

“Men or women?” Breda managed to ask.

“One of each,” Fuery admitted.

“Naked or clothed?” Havoc interjected, leaning in closer.

“That’s not part of the game!” Fuery protested, turning scarlet and answering Havoc’s question without meaning to. “Come on, I can’t possibly be the only one!” he pleaded, looking around the table.

Mustang reached across to take the bottle from him, and Fuery sighed in relief.

“My experience certainly doesn’t top your story, Sergeant,” he said, amused. “It was just the one woman in my bed when I came to. We knew each other, at least; we were assigned to the same unit for a while. But the circumstances were war-related, and since we already agreed not to delve too deeply there, you’ll just have to use your sordid little imaginations to fill in the blanks.”

Hawkeye was very carefully not looking in his direction. Fortunately, none of the others had even dared suspect her.

“I’m sure that kinda thing happened pretty often, out there,” Breda mused, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Far from home, and all that.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’re up, Kain.”

“Right. Um...never have I ever...um...” Fuery frowned, his gentle round face still slightly pink. “Oh! I’ve never lost a girlfriend to the colonel!” he cried. Havoc groaned.

“Not fair,” he whined.

“Hey, maybe you should do a coupla shots on this one, Jean. Since it happens so often,” Breda teased. Havoc took the opportunity to flick the pen cap back at him, but missed horribly.

“Jerk,” he said, pouting.

“You may as well finish the last bit in the bottle, anyway,” Hawkeye noted, her eyes sparkling. Havoc glared at the nearly-empty bottle for a moment, and then shrugged and polished it off.

“All right,” Breda said, consulting his tally sheet. “That makes it...me in the lead with two, Kain with three, Jean and the Lieutenant with four each, and the Colonel bringing up the rear with six,” he announced, grinning. “So what do I win?”

“First watch,” Mustang smirked. The others snickered as Breda’s face fell.

“Aw, come on,” he moaned.

“You ought to be fully aware of the stakes _before_ you ante up, in the future, Second Lieutenant,” Hawkeye advised, hiding her smile.

“Don’t forget to do a perimeter check outside,” Mustang added cheerfully.  “Make sure it’s safe for the rest of us to bed down for the night.”

“Here ya go,” Fuery said, passing him the oilskin without bothering to conceal his glee.

“I’m sure glad _I_ don’t have to go out there in the cold and damp,” Havoc stated, stretching his arms over his head and yawning widely. “I’m beat. G’night!”

“I hate you guys,” Breda grumbled, shoving his arms into the oilskin.

As he stomped out of the cabin, Mustang grinned around at the others.

“Anyone up for a round of Truth or Dare?”

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to narutofan96sasuke, who requested a scene involving the group playing a game to pass the time.


End file.
